This is the Alice spinoff I was thinking about... it's wierd. And it has spoilers for what happens post Sound of Madness, and Eternally Cursed, so BE WARNED!
So in terms of Chronology, this happens post Eternally Cursed. Lightning is gone and Fran is somewhere else, and this is what happens if Balthier is completely alone. It's really creepy, and the type of narrative used in the Balfonheim scenes with random insets of people talking or disembodied events was inspired by the book Pedro Paramo. It's a good book, but takes more than one read to get through; still, HIGHLY recommended! There are references to Lightning (motif: roses) and Fran (implied) but... it's just wierd.
I own NOTHING!
Alice sighed, looking down at the bureau filled with papers and business forms. She was sick of signing the papers; day after day after day, she would pick up her pen and scrawl the same name over and over and over again. Alice Kingsleigh. Alice Kingsleigh. Alice...
She set the pen down with clack and set the newly endorsed document aside. When she'd decided to start this business proposal with Hamish's father, this hadn't been in her mind at all. She was young and full of new ideas, and she thought that in Underland she may have gained some of the strength to do follow her own heart.
"I suppose this means I was not strong enough," Alice murmured, shaking her head and setting her wavy blonde tresses swaying. Outside the office window, it was raining. Water splashed off the gutters and pattered on the windowpane like fingers rapping on the glass. Alice dimmed the desk lamp, pale fingers standing out against the deep mahogany wood of the lamp stand, and left the room for the night.
When she returned the next morning, the window was open, the curtains blowing slightly in the restless breeze wandering through the room like a trapped animal. Alice's eyes swept around the room, searching for any signs of the intruder, before slamming the window shut and ensuring that the thief had removed nothing from the chamber. Alice collapsed into the stern black chair that had come to claim her in her course of work, relieved that nothing was missing. However, an envelope on the table caught her attention; made of a strange sort of stationary she had never seen before. The wax seal was a rich, venetian red, and so fresh that the slightly wetter patches of wax glinted like blood in the soft light of the lamp. A very decorative letter was pressed into the seal, but it was a language or symbol Alice was unfamiliar with. The contents of the letter were even stranger.
"Curious..." Alice whispered.
Use not your eyes,
They deceive you.
Use not your ears,
They betray you.
Use not your thoughts,
They mislead you.
All that you see with your eyes is a lie, Alice.
Deerborne Alley, Noon, precisely.
Try not to be late, my dear.
She glanced at the clock. There was an hour before the appointment with the mysterious intruder, so she had plenty of time to report the break in...
Alice instead left early to take a leisurely walk to Deerborne Alley, a dead end street full of empty shops. It had been quite the sight in older days, she had heard, with lights and signs that glowed brilliantly in the night. Those were times of gaiety and joy; but the alley had fallen on hard times, and now spiders strung their cobwebs between the faded signs.
Noon.
A single ray of sun shone through the clouds onto the manhole in the middle of the empty square, the light dancing on the rusted circle like fire on water. The light was bent, much like the way Alice had seen professors in London bend light with glass rods and triangles. Curious, she stepped into the dancing ray of sun, and found herself swept away in a blast of wind.
Alice stumbled out of another alley in a different city, the walls made of crumbling masonry and the street of rotting boards that might break any moment and send her plunging into the sea hissing below. It was dark, but for the twinkle of stars shining in the moonless sky. A single streetlight shed its weak, guttering light in a wavering circle below, and Alice crept toward the light, seeking safety within the insubstantial glow.
Like a ghost in the night, he appeared, materializing out of the darkness, the shadows clinging to him as if reluctant to let him go. Pale silver eyes in a gaunt, bloodless face regarded her with hunger, sorrow, pain, and joy, rolling together like a restless wind. There was curiosity too, as an icy hand, white as milk and thin as bone touched her face uncertainly, as if to assure its owner that the girl was indeed there.
"Balthier... is that you?" Alice whispered, reaching up to grip the frail hand that was just about to withdraw back into the shadows.
The man, barely more than a shell of himself, smiled and nodded, opening his mouth as if he would speak, but the voice that came from his throat seemed as if it came from the sky, miles and miles away.
Alice...
The wraith like apparition emerged from the shadows more, venturing into the light, eyes darting like a hunted animal.
…Alive? The question came haltingly as the pale shadow examined her carefully, searching for any sign that she was anything but alive.
"I am, very much so. I wish I could say the same to you." Alice murmured, taking in Balthier's sickly appearance.
Nothing to live for; no reason to die. Just… exist.
When the flickering streetlight went out as the flaming disk of the sun rose, he vanished back into what remained of the darkness, as if the light caused him to evaporate, leaving her alone in the city. Wandering the empty streets, Alice fancied she heard the morose melody of bells and harps echoing in the still, salty air, but listening to the silence, she decided she must have been imagining it. Still, emerging from the deserted city into the brown, rolling cliffs of the steppes where the town was perched, she thought that there was a sad, muffled chime echoing in the wet air.
The steppes were almost as empty as the town, though strange creatures and lovely flowers filled the cliffs. It was the distinct lack of human life that made the plains so eerie. The windmills in the distance were like ships with slack sails, trapped on a frozen, rolling brown sea. Eventually, in the shadow of one of the great, trapped ships, Alice came across a small camp of two young, travelling warriors, who welcomed her to their camp.
"Do you venture to Balfonheim?" one of the knights asked politely, gesturing her to sit near him in the shade.
"I just came from that direction," she replied. "The crumbling city by the sea."
"It is said it was quite the glorious place, back in the day. It was a pirate town; quite colorful, I heard," another knight, a young woman with straight blond hair draped over one shoulder, exclaimed. The first shook his head.
"Not anymore. A ghost wanders the streets at night, vanishing into the air the moment the sun shines its first holy rays over the horizon. We of the Holy Order mean to vanquish the spirit. It has become dangerous to wander these steppes; the ghost often appears in the night and makes off with members of caravans traversing the trade route."
Alice looked toward the town in the distance, the spires of dilapidated buildings like desperate clawed fingers reaching for the sky. It was a pity that the city seemed so dead; the steppes were blooming with life.
"I think I will go back to the city now," Alice said, rising to her feet.
"You will not stay? You may not return alive. It is said the ghost partakes of human flesh."
"I will be fine." Alice smiled; but she was not certain.
The sky pirate was mad, madder than the mad hatter.
As she passed the crumbling buildings on her way back to the weak streetlight, she heard the murmuring behind her.
Just like the night before, the pale, gaunt phantom appeared from the darkness, quietly materializing just outside the ring of light.
Good morning, Alice.
"Good evening, Balthier. Did you sleep well?"
He did not answer, only smiled that queer smile that said nothing and everything at once before he vanished into the night again. Alice stepped toward the place he had been standing, out of the light, and found him next to her elbow, offering her his arm. She took it, feeling the deathly cold limb tense slightly at her touch.
"There are two knights outside the city, and they claim they have come for your head."
Balthier smiled and closed his eyes, amused, but when he opened them, they gleamed with steely light.
"I don't want you to kill them. They may think you are a monster with only a human shape to brag of, but I know you, before you became like this. Mercy may convince them to let you be."
Balthier only raised her hand to his cold lips and kissed the back of it, his lips lingering there for a moment longer than it seemed necessary. She imagined that when his laughing eyes glanced at her again, hunger danced within the silver flames, but he looked away then, and she could not stop a shiver from creeping up her spine. Behind her, the city murmured like a sighing woman.
"I received a letter from you—"
He shook his head.
"No, not from you? Either way, it brought me here, and I really think I must be getting back now. Can you help me?"
Cannot…even help myself… cannot think of aught else… but her…
"There were flees in the mattress, girl," the rough voice of a sea-hand snarled. "I want my money back."
"There warn't no flees in the mattress," came the sweet, honeyed answer of a tavern wench. "I ain't givin' anything back."
"Her?" Alice muttered, peering into the empty, dilapidated tavern as they passed it. Lip curling disdainfully, Balthier shook his head again.
"When the day comes—when you leave, where do you go?" she asked.
They stopped before an old building with a collapsed roof, and Balthier nodded toward the darkened maw of the entrance.
"I'll take the money out o' yer hide, missy!"
Alice listened to the silent voices, while the murmurs continued.
"There it is! Hurry!" These voices were real; the two knights had found them.
"My lady, stand aside! We have come to slay the ghost!" the male knight called. Alice gasped and looked up at Balthier, but a wild, savage light had entered his eyes. In a heartbeat, he had shaken her from his arm with more strength then she could imagine; in a second heartbeat, there was a breath of wind at her shoulder and the male knight crashed to the ground on the other side of the street; a third heartbeat, the female knight screamed. Then it was silent, but for the drip of blood on the boards of the street, as he pressed his face to her neck in a grotesque kiss. The knight was limp in his arms; Alice's heart gave one more frightened, painful beat, and they were gone into the shroud of night, only the male knight remaining on the ground. He stirred, groaning, and Alice ran to his side.
"Adelaide…" the knight groaned. "He took Adelaide. We were partners for seven years…"
"If we don't move, you will be quick to join her," Alice whispered fiercely, helping the knight rise. His head was bleeding profusely from a cut just above his eye, and Alice brought him quickly to the weak streetlight. It seemed that the light's sad, white circle was the only thing that could stop the creature Balthier had become; it was afraid of the light, only dreaming of entering the brightness.
"It will follow the scent of my blood. It will come for me…"
"May I ask your name?" Alice interrupted him, searching his pack until she found something that looked like antiseptic and gauze.
"Nestor."
"Life! I am too good for you!" The shadow of dangling feet, swinging slightly in the nonexistent breeze, rocked back and forth in the light splashing faintly onto the wall.
There was the sound of a gay party, violins and accordions playing in the town square, but it was empty.
The day dawned quietly, and Alice awoke with a snort. Nestor was still there, sleeping fitfully against the light post, and Balthier, of course, was nowhere in sight. Leaving a hastily written note to Nestor that she would be back, Alice wandered back into the city, listening to the indistinct murmurs. When she arrived at the building with the broken roof, she pushed her way inside.
There were bones everywhere. Piled upon each other, skulls stacked on skulls, each type of bone Alice had ever seen neatly sorted and piled around the periphery of the room, down to the tiny bones at the ends of fingers and toes. A rosebush with wilted leaves and flowers had twined its way through the bones, toward the light streaming through the destroyed roof, and Alice found a bucket full of water by a huge knot of roots. However, the roots were as dry as the bones themselves, so she emptied the bucket over the thirsty plant. Something shifted behind her, and she whirled to find Balthier.
In the harsh light of day, he looked even more emaciated than before, but his lips and cheeks were rosy with stolen blood, and his thin hands, brushing against her arms as he assured himself she was real, were almost as warm as a newt. He even seemed to have regained some of his tanned appearance, but his pale silver eyes were still as dull as before.
The city is full of whispers.
Alice jumped at the sound of his voice, thin and weak. She did not see his lips move, but she knew that it was his voice.
The night is full of ghosts.
His eyes darted, searching the corners of the room for things she could not see. His hands worried his sleeves, and Alice, remembering the day on the balcony at Marmoreal, took his hands in her own, to stop him from ripping at the faded embroidery. His long fingers curled about her own convulsively.
They follow me and will not let me go. When I leave I hear them screaming for me to return and hear their stories.
He was talkative today; Alice realized. Talkative and mad.
Listen to their stories, Alice.
Balthier dropped to the ground, pressing his ear to the floor, his eyes closed. Alice listened to the silence. It felt as if something furry brushed against her legs, the whisper of silent feathers echoing in the stillness.
I am of the night, and I fear the night. The night is full of phantoms, full of ghosts. And I must listen, for my hands do not block the sound... I cannot cover my eyes… Listen until the night turns to day and they fade… we fade… until the voices die…
His crazed eyes snapped open, and in a flurry of motion, he was on his feet again, standing by the mountain of unsorted bones, feverishly sorting.
If I sort the bones… If I make it easier for them to find their bodies… maybe, they will leave me alone.
Alice left him alone in the sunlit room, alone with the ghostly voices and the bones he believed would bring him salvation, and wandered away into the ruined city to find Nestor. The echoes of children laughing rang in her ears. And his whispers, like the ghosts in the city:
When you die, tell the gods I did my best. Put in a good word for me, Alice.
Nestor had recovered sufficiently by nightfall that he could leave the city; he whispered words of revenge, but Alice persuaded him that it would be best to leave.
"He just scared me, that's all. I don't think he meant to kill me, just give me a scare."
Alice mustered her courage; as soon as they stepped into the darkness, they would see Balthier's pale outline slinking like a hungry wolf through the street, seeking something else to eat and fill his empty heart.
"He said something about a woman. I said I hadn't seen her."
When she led Nestor into the night, Balthier was not there, nor did she see him at all in the city. At least, not until they entered the moonlit steppes. A baby was crying somewhere nearby.
A black tangle of bramble bushes filled with sharp thorns rustled loudly. Alice jumped, but Nestor went toward it.
"Do you hear the child crying, Lady Alice?" he asked, peering into the thick bush.
"Yes," Alice replied, spotting a shape wriggling near the bottom of the plant. When she bent down, silver eyes in a rotten, gray-skinned face stared back. There was the muffled sound of a sobbing baby coming from somewhere nearby.
The skeleton was squirming madly, trapped by the long thorns and thin branches that tangled in its ribcage and the frayed fabric of its vest. Alice imagined that there was a frustrated expression on its face as it struggled to get free, but there was terror in its eyes as well. It growled quietly, a noise more appropriate for lions or large wildcats, and hissed when Nestor began to draw his sword.
"Stay your sword," Alice whispered fiercely, but Nestor shook his head.
"It is trying to take a child, Lady Alice. As a knight of the Holy Order, I cannot allow it."
At this, the skeleton's wriggling increased, but it was caught fast, and it went still, a frustrated whine escaping its lacerated throat. The baby nearby made a snuffling hiccup, followed by an atrocious smell. The skeleton's eyes went wide, and it began fighting to get free of the bush again. Alice judged that the baby had relieved itself somewhere nearby. Gently disentangling the branches from the skeleton, she helped it up, and it emerged from the brambles, dragging the baby with it.
… Heard it crying and went to help… but the moon came out and turned me…"I got stuck."
She heard his voice—was it but a dream? Balthier sounded embarrassed as he quickly brushed dirt and leaves out of his clothes and combed twigs out of his matted hair with fingers of bone.
"Where is its mother?" Alice asked, glancing about. Balthier's eyes darted toward a ditch nearby, where the torn corpse of a woman lay.
"Couerls did this; that is the mark of their claws." Nestor observed. "It was trying to help the child? A scrap of humanity remains in it yet?"
Young in life… does not belong in a place of the dead. Balthier huddled under a tree, hidden from the moonlight and adopting his human appearance once more.
They scream and weep; laugh and whisper. In this place, where the dead things are. All is ash. All is night. I cannot see the day. It is dark and I am blind.
"It cannot be thus, Balthier. Why do you mourn?"
Balthier rocked back and forth, eyes darting.
The rose is dying and I cannot revive it. It was folly, the dead cannot sustain the living.
"Balthier, it is not true! You simply refuse to see any life! You are trapped in a cage of your own making! Come, tomorrow I will prove that there is yet life! You saved a child, Balthier! And now you say that all is dead?"
Balthier rocked back and forth, then bolted into the night.
"Stop running, you foolish pirate!" Alice shrieked, while the baby cried in Nestor's arms.
Nestor had continued north for the cities and civilization with the child, while Alice chose to remain in the crumbling pirate town with the whispers and hissing sea. Salt and water was heavy in the air, like tears that would not dry. She visited Balthier's lair, and found the remains of Adelaide's armor, but guessed Balthier must have already sorted her bones. He was nowhere to be found, but when she stepped out of the building, he was waiting outside, a tall, thin outline in the noonday sun. He was staring out to sea, eyes unfocused, a tear sliding toward his chin. The air was heavy with the scent of salt and seawater, while grey clouds promising rain boiled on the horizon.
"Come, Balthier. I want to show you something."
He turned toward her like a lost child, and she could almost sense him drinking her scent and, when he leaned forward to kiss her hand, her warmth, too. His lips were cold again, but when she began to move toward the outskirts of the town, he followed her quietly, footsteps inaudible.
She was walking with a ghost.
They left the city behind and went into the steppes, where the flowers were blooming and Couerls roamed. Dragons soared overhead, and butterflies danced away from walking, crowned flowers. Birds twittered madly in the trees, perpetually in shades of flaming autumn. A crisp wind began to blow; Alice could smell the clean scent of the rain that had come to wash the distant city clean, and knew that if she could smell it, so could he. When she looked back, he was crouched by a flower that was blood red and rimmed with white, like lace.
Then he let out a delicate sneeze. Blinking, he proceeded to sneeze several more times, swiftly procuring a handkerchief, then grumbled something under his breath. Alice swiftly moved toward him.
"Did you say something?" she whispered, kneeling next to him and grabbing his hand. He grinned sunnily, despite the drops of rain that began to fall.
"I said, 'It's been so long since I've been around these, I'd forgotten I was allergic to them.' Hear me now?"
Alice had to hold back the urge to wrap her arms around him, but that was rather hard when he lazily draped an arm about her shoulders, using his other hand to cover a cat-like yawn.
"I feel like I just woke up after a long sleep," he sighed, looking over the cliffs where the Couerls roamed, hunting for easy prey. "Can hardly remember what I've been doing all this time…"
"I am glad you are awake," Alice said quietly. "I was quite afraid you were lost. I received a letter that took me here, you see. It must have been to help you."
"Really, now? Might I see this letter?"
Alice handed it to him, watching his brows furrow as he read it.
"Mm… this looks like that white rabbit's handwriting. What was his name? McTwisp? I wouldn't be surprised if he wants to go to Underland next and cheer up the Hatter." Balthier raised his head to the rain, letting the droplets patter on his face.
"Can hardly remember what I've been doing all this time," he repeated. "I just heard voices and remember being lonely and afraid."
"Why don't you leave? You could come back to Earth with me. It would be easy enough for you to blend in. You are not the Dodo, or McTwisp. You could easily adapt to life there." Alice suggested.
"I am not human, Alice. I… you have seen me at my worst. What a plague you would be unleashing on your world!" Balthier answered. Alice felt a stab of regret; was he so lost? Nevertheless, he was correct; the curse she would be releasing into the night was unthinkable.
"There was a woman," Balthier began quietly. "Her name was Lightning. She me reminded me an awful lot of you. She was strong, and most curious. Slaying dragons and Bandersnatch…" he grinned again.
"Do you really think me as strong as that?" Alice asked, resting her head against his chest. There was no heartbeat; only silence. Balthier gave a feline purr, seemingly happy despite the fact that they were getting soaked by warm rain.
"Not the first time I have heard that, Princess." He blinked. "I forgot to water my rose…"
"I did. Besides, it's raining now."
"Shall we go back?"
"Why?"
"That is a wonderful question."
They went back anyway, but unlike before, Balthier was much more energetic, his footsteps brisk as they tapped over the cobblestone street. The scent of roses was heavy in the air, overpowering the salt, and when they entered his home, the sight of blooming roses greeted them.
Blue, purple, red, yellow, pink. Petals showered to the ground, obscuring the skulls and bones, piling on the ground like snow. Balthier whistled.
"Is this what I was waiting for?" he muttered, watching the roses bloom. His eyes roved over the skulls and bones. "The Madness… was that what he was doing?"
The city was silent as they left; Balthier having decided it might be in his best interests (for his own and his sanity) to move on from the haunted city and find somewhere else to live. He said he considered going back to Golmore, where he may be able to see her again (who she was, Alice would never know).
As they walked, Balfonheim crumbled into the sea, and Balthier stopped to watch the city disintegrate into the waves.
"Where do you think they went?" he asked suddenly.
"Who?"
"The ghosts."
Alice was silent.
"Do you think they have told the gods? Have they told them what I have done?"
She could not answer.
Alice, when you die, tell the gods I did my best. Put in a good word for me.
He was looking at her with that odd expression again.
"No matter," he shook his head. "I have something for you." Reaching into one of his belt pouches, he handed her a broken piece of a mirror. "It is an enchanted looking-glass, but there is not much magic in it left, nowadays. Perhaps it has one more use left. You can use it to go home, or to Underland. Where will you go?"
She met her own eyes. Where will I go? She wondered, wondering, wandering through the mirror.
Alice emerged into her office, wondering why she had come there.
She was strong and most curious.
Alice sat down at the desk.
Alice Kingsleigh. Was it a dream?
Alice Kingsleigh. She could smell roses.
Alice Kingsleigh. Was she really as strong as all that?
Alice…
Kingsleigh.
So for clarification in the Balfonheim scenes: The city is completely deserted. The bells and harps Alice hears is the Madness singing, and the shadow that hung itself was not Balthier. The voices that are physically talking are ghosts, but for the scenes where Balthier is "speaking" in a more disembodied, disconnected way.